Twilight of a Dream
by Garnet Filigree1
Summary: Tyr's a heavy thinker even when he's sleeping...


Title:    Twilight of a Dream

Author:  Garnet Filigree

Rating:  PG (maybe not even that much, it's tame.)

Spoilers:  Nope

Disclaimer:  I don't wanna steal nobody's toys, so I'll just borrow these for a while and then put them back, OK?  They really belong to Tribune/Roddenberry/lots of other people I don't know.  I don't mean to infringe, and God knows I'm not getting paid!  

Summary:  Ever had a freaky little dream?  'Nuff said!   Could somebody please get me out of Tyr's head?  It's slightly AU and a few years down the road in here, people.

As if that isn't bad enough – it's also something of a WIP (groan) and I'll put more up as it becomes clear to me.

 BTW, I'm not sure I even like this, so read at your own risk.

Archive:  OK, just ask 

Email:     Cressid@email.com

Thanks to J for the beta – and don't blame her for any mistakes, 'cause they're all mine.  It's not like the story changed 50 times or anything.  Ha!  

The poem you'll come across is "Ozymandius" by Shelley – props to the bard.

Twilight of a Dream

Last night I stood on the shore of a pristine sea, its midnight waters bejeweled by gleaming starlight.  The crush of waves murmured blandishments to the dark sky before falling over at my feet in a tiny white froth.  As they broke the scent of brine enveloped me like a shroud.  Cry of battle, roar of adulation – they rose and fell while the moon cast down upon the flood before me a rippling road of silver.  I was bound, enraptured as any mariner of ancient Greece fool enough to heed the siren's song.  So complete was the moment that only the echo of my name on the night winds could penetrate the enchantment.  

 They called from afar, voices distorted by more than mere distance could explain.  Gradually the sound grew louder…I strained to see the faces of those who beckoned.  Their demanding pleas pulled at me, moved me despite my reluctance, and although I longed to escape my invisible bonds, I could not.  My will, my entire being, had been reduced to an insignificant ephemera.  In the last moments before vertigo overcame me I realized the moonlit path led not to the future but the grave.

Headlong I plummeted into the past, fantastic images of ancient glories filling my mind.  Civilizations rose up from the primordial muck – rose and fell along with the keening cry of unseen masses.   I heard songs of such beauty that I wept with the knowledge that they were forever lost to me.  Somehow I, too, lived the titanic struggles of those who had come before.  Together we trod the path from cradle to grave, our souls battered by cruel Fate.  Yet even in such despair we raged against the inescapable grasp of death, raising defiant fists skyward and screaming the proof of our existence to the stars.  Through it all I sensed a presence so powerful it could not be measured in any way fathomable to man.  A compelling, intemporal voice whispered into my mind.  

"There is a bridge between truth and folly.  You have crossed it many times," it said, then   began to recite:

I met a traveller from an antique land,   
Who said--"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone  
Stand in the desart . . . . Near them, on the sand,  
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,  
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,  
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read  
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,  
The hand that mocked them, the heart that fed;  
And on the pedestal, these words appear:  
My name is Ozymandius, King of Kings,  
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!  
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay   
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare  
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

The evocative words echoed within me while the disembodied voice faded away, leaving me floundering in disorientation.  I cried out, demanding to know who this Ozymandius had been, but the question was unanswered.  Instead I heard once more the invisible chorus, sighing voices rising and falling in almost hypnotic rhythm.  Their command was clear - 

"Avenge us!  Restore the Kodiak…honor us!"

In my confusion I wondered aloud, "Have I not done so?"  

Do they not understand?  A new Nietzschean empire awaits - the groundwork has already been laid.  Many have bled to ensure the realization of my goal.  My son, hidden away for his safety, knows little of his father.  The years I might have spent with him have been sacrificed on Destiny's altar.  Those I once called friends have fled me, unwilling to play the parts I had assigned them.  Yet, given the chance, I would not change what I have done - it is all for him – for my legacy.  I should not regret the choices I have made….

In my moment of vacillation another presence revealed itself, sharp and vibrant – the voice exactly as I remembered.  

"If God is dead, Tyr, you aren't next in line for the job."

I spun about with a cry, frantically searching the darkness for the familiar face.  Silver-violet moonlight trickled down on my head like a trail of tears, illuminating with cruel clarity the empty sands beside me.  I cast my glance upward to find the once lavender-gray moon now only a sterile bit of rock, timeless yet barren, mocking in its cold indifference.  What am I that it should be mindful of me?  

Again his voice came to me from somewhere beyond my reach.

"All things turn to dust and are forgotten, my friend.  You are no different.  There is only this moment – use it well."

Should I find comfort in the sound of his voice when his words are diametrically opposed to my most sacred beliefs?  I will **not** take comfort in this companionship, this frail human friendship.  I am beyond the need…

Defiantly I called out to him and to any others who would dare reproach me.

"Show yourself!  I demand that you face me!"  

Like fragile shades unable to withstand the light of day, they crept forward from some dim corner of my soul, brave spirits come to face me in the dark, demanding acknowledgement of all I have denied these long years.  Their ghostly faces reflected the truth without regard for its cruelty, their voices blended into one shattering demand: 

"Look on your works!" 

                                                               ~TBC~


End file.
